


Love Spell

by NiffleredAway (AnxiousEspada)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Nonconsensual kissing, Smut, dub-con, explicit dub/noncon, lovespell usage, non-con, obliviate usage, thesewt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousEspada/pseuds/NiffleredAway
Summary: Theseus uses a love spell on Newt and does what he's been dreaming about for a while now. Theseus should not be doing this.





	Love Spell

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授翻】爱情魔咒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149835) by [white_lemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_lemon/pseuds/white_lemon)



> yo. this is underage dub/noncon incest. 6k words of it. their ages aren't mentioned, so imagine what you will, but they're both still in Hogwarts. that's it.
> 
> I am aware that lovespells arent really canon and that potions are the way to go. But Fantastic Beasts 2 didn't care about that for stupid plot's sake, so why would I?

Theseus never would have thought that his brother could be this naive. In hindsight however, it made sense; there was a reason why quiet, shy Newt preferred creatures over human company. He wasn't good at judging their intentions, never had been and probably never would be, couldn't even look most of them in the eye without becoming fidgety. If he was better at realising ulterior motives, he might not have gone along with his older brother so easily. It should have been common knowledge that older siblings generally tended to mess with their younger brothers, but oh, Newt trusted him way too blindly.

 

“It's a spell I just learnt,” Theseus said, tapping his wand thoughtfully against his jaw after he closed the classroom door behind them and enforced it with a muttered whisper, quietly and between his teeth. “I want to try it out, but I fear I might not get it right. That's why I didn't want to ask any of my friends, you know how they are. If this takes me a few tries to figure out, I'd never live it down. You know how they poke fun at me for wanting to become an Auror already.”

 

Newt stood helplessly in the middle of the room, clearly uncomfortable in a place that should not be accessible for students after classes, but he didn't say anything, just looked at him. His house robes seemed just a tad too large for him, rim of the sweater touching his knuckles. Knuckles that were full of scratches from the newest beast he found somewhere in the forest he shouldn't be going into either.

 

“What kind of spell is it?” he asked, with his head cocked and curiosity in his bright eyes. He had to look up to Theseus, since he was a few hands shorter than him after Theseus had had that latest growing spurt. The way he hunched into his cloak only furthered their height difference. 

 

“A sympathy spell. It can be helpful in tense situations, so I really think I should be able to use it properly.”

 

Theseus took a few steps towards Newt, forcing himself to not appear nervous or too excited despite his heart ramming against his ribcage as though it wanted to break free. Was he really going to do this? If it went alright, he would be able to indulge into something that had kept him awake at night for months now, and Newt would be none the wiser the moment the spell lifted if he was done by then.

 

“I've never heard of such a spell before,” Newt said, looking at the wall two feet to Theseus’ left. He looked nearly otherworldly, freckles dusting his still soft face in star constellations, and the light of the setting sun painted his messy hair in fire. Theseus had to suppress the urge to step closer, to run his hand through the locks that Newt used to shield himself from the world, to grab his chin and tilt his head every which way to study the shadows that would dance across the future promise of sharp cheekbones.

 

“It's probably just not been in your books yet, Newt. I promise it won't hurt you.”

 

Theseus raised his voice at the end of the phrase as if he was posing a question, implying that Newt could back out if he wanted to. That was unnecessary, he knew that; when Newt made a choice, he followed through.

And as expected, Newt nodded minutely, humming in agreement, and even spread out his arms a little as if to show he wasn't going to counter. As if he was showing that he was not a predator.

As if he could ever be a predator, small and soft and thin as he was.

“Alright,” he muttered, raising his wand, aiming it at his brother, and gathering his concentration. Newt was watching his hand, swallowed nervously, a small tremble of anticipation going through him. It was beautiful to see how much he trusted him, even if he was scared. Theseus gathered his thoughts, took a deep breath, spoke the words in his mind. He was not going to mess this up. And so he channelled the feelings needed for the spell - desire, mostly, affection as well - into the flick of his wrist and the touch of his tongue against his dental ridge as he pronounced the syllables.

Newt's eyes widened in the second before the translucent pink light hit him, in obvious recognition of the words, but he didn't manage to react in time. The love spell seeped into his chest and he gasped, hand gripping his woollen sweater above his sternum, as if to reach for the magic and pull it out again.

“Theseus!” Newt choked out, shock in every vowel, sounding even breathier than usual. “You can't just - …”

His eyes glazed over. 

Theseus took a step closer, wand still outstretched in case he had to affirm the enchantment again, as Newt blinked slowly two, three times. His head was still in a curious tilt, and the shock had melted away together with the frowny lines on his face. He looked at Theseus now with a sparkle in his eyes, perhaps a bit duller than what it could be, but it certainly resembled the affection he otherwise only showed when talking about his little pets.

“Do you know who I am, Newt?” He asked when his younger brother was only standing a foot away from him, eyes locked in the most unusual stare. He never held a stare like this, and the new experience sent hot shivers down Theseus’ back. He was holding back through nothing but despair to not mess up.

Newt nodded slowly, movements locked in molasses, and went up on his tiptoes. “Thee-seus,” he sing-songed, his breath ghosting across the taller boy's face, catching in his eyelashes. His voice sounded hollow but sweet, just almost like the sweet tones Newt used to soothe and reassure something small and helpless. Aimed at Theseus, now, he could pretend it sounded needy.

 

He finally allowed himself to raise his hand to Newt's face, who pushed his cheek into his palm as he laid it flat against it. The touch started a fire in his skin he never would have imagined to be this hot. 

“That's right,” he answered, but almost tripped on the phrase. “It's me, Theseus. Just me. I won't hurt you.”

“You won't hurt me,” Newt repeated as he burrowed his head deeper in his brother's caress. It didn't sound like he understood what he was saying anymore.

He could give in now. Theseus could give in to what his thoughts had been drifting to now, finally. Holding Newt's face still and leaning down seemed to take centuries, the distance between their lips a millennium old before it was closed. The dry and warm press of Newt's mouth against his wasn't anywhere close to what he had expected it to be.

It didn't feel like much at all. 

Newt looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes, expecting but unmoving. There had been no sparks, no fireworks, nothing that Theseus had read about would happen when you kissed the one you loved. But he did love Newt, didn't he? There was not a person on earth he was closer to, not a person on earth he wanted to be  _ even closer _ to. Maybe he was just doing it wrong.

He tried again. Pressed their faces together, held Newt in place, who had his eyes open and was still simply looking at him. Did he understand that they were kissing? The change came when Newt tried to squirm away after a few moments of contact that meant and did nothing. He shifted, opened his mouth to get more air in than he could like this, when he shared such a confined space with Theseus. That did it. The soft sliding motion, the barely there friction, the give of Newt's mouth beneath him awakened something akin to hunger for more in Theseus. He knew what to do now, had seen and heard about it before. Maybe the nervousness had gotten the better of him for a moment, that's why he had forgotten.

He let Newt draw in the breath he was looking for, took one himself to steady the shake in his hands,  _ he could do this _ , and then pulled him back to him with his hand now tightly curled in Newt's hair. His hair was as soft as he had known it to be, this wasn't the first time he was pulling it - they had fought often as children, even if the fights had been rather one-sided.

Newt gasped at the sting in his scalp, hadn't expected any unpleasant sensation to come from his brother's hands. The sound was tiny, high, surprised, and turned Theseus’ insides into knots. It also gave him the opportunity to bring their mouths closer than they had been before, prying Newt's mouth open further with hungry movements. Their teeth knocked together with an oddly wooden sound, but Theseus only had to move his head to the side a little and suddenly their mouths fit like pieces of a puzzle.

Theseus could hear a surprised sound from Newt when he inched his tongue into his mouth, probing against his lips first, but soon enough pressing forwards curiously. It was warm, the slide of tongue against tongue, and the texture was not comparable to anything he knew, soft and rough at once. Finally he could join in on the talks his friends had about kissing. Theseus took his sweet time exploring his brother's mouth, not receiving any form of resistance except for the occasional gasp for breath. It was a messy situation, overall, and he knew that he didn't exactly know what he was doing. He decided it didn't matter much for now, he was doing this to try it out, and if it was bad, well, Newt wouldn't remember it once the spell wore off.

 

Considering the flush that had settled over Newt's cheeks and the red flush of his ears, however, Theseus assumed that whatever he was doing by instinct was having an effect. Newt's face looked incredible, crimson and squished between his palms. His lips were shining with spit, now, and seemed almost a bit swollen. He wanted to bite them. He would.

“Did you like that?” Theseus asked, voice strangely far away through the loud thumping in his ears. Newt was still holding eye contact, even if his posture had become a bit more like himself again, head tilted so that he was looking through his hair. He blinked.

“Like what?” he breathed out, and the way his words sounded like they were dipped in honey, sweet and slow and just a little slurred, sent a jolt of electricity through Theseus, tingling in his feet. His little brother was so pure, so innocent. A dark shadow in his mind whispered to him about destroying that.

“What we just did. Kissing.” Newt's mouth formed a little ‘o’. “Did you like kissing me?”

Theseus only then realised that he was shaking Newt lightly, demanding an answer. 

Newt  _ giggled _ . “Yes.”

“Of course,” said Theseus. “Alright.” He would keep going, then. He wanted to, and he could, and Newt liked it. He tore his eyes from Newt's for a moment, looking around the room. The teacher's desk caught his attention.

“Come on, now,” he murmured as he started leading Newt towards it. Standing around in the middle of the room seemed inappropriate for what he wanted to do. Newt followed without protest, but tripped slightly over his own feet. If anything, the spell seemed to make him act sleepy if it wasn't for the feverish tone to his skin. He grabbed Newt by the shoulders, softly, and pushed him backwards against the table. Newt got the hint and stretched up a bit until he could sit down - he was still so small he had to go on his tiptoes for that. Theseus closed in on him, pushing his knees apart so he could stand bracketed between them. If he leaned forward now, he could push Newt down on the table with nothing but his body weight.

But he didn't. Instead he initiated another kiss, drawing as many little noises from Newt as he could, who even reached up his arms and rested them on his older brother's shoulders. The gesture was so unlike Newt it put him off for a moment; Newt didn't invite anyone for hugs, usually. This was a nice change. He smelled nice, of wool and hay and just a little bit of forest, and his embrace was warm. Theseus never wanted to let go again. He didn't have to, for now. He moved his mouth and hungry, slow motions, relishing in the friction between their lips, breathing Newt's breath. He ran his fingers through Newt's hair, across the back of his head, caresses the soft spot where his skull met his neck, barely covered by his robe. Newt followed his movements now, although with less enthusiasm, letting himself be pulled along.

 

Theseus felt his skin tingle with every passing moment, and finally allowed himself to hold back less. Newt was edging him on with these helpless little sounds, released directly into his mouth, eyes only half open now. He captured his lower lip between his teeth, felt Newt trying to pull back from the foreign feeling, and bit down. Not hard, of course, just enough to feel the resistance of flesh under his front teeth, the give of soft skin. The startled squeak from his little brother was heavenly. He ran his tongue across the abused spot, leaned back and patted Newt's cheek. 

“That hurt,” Newt whispered, too confused to sound accusing. “You said it wouldn't.”

“It doesn't hurt, Newt,” he answered, hoping to soothe although he had no idea why he was lying now. “It doesn't. Be good for me, and it doesn't.” He dove back in, assaulting his mouth with lips and teeth and tongue, alternating between slow and deep kisses and small, superficial pecks to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks. By the time he had the idea to kiss other places than Newt's mouth, they were both breathing heavily.

Something primal deep within Theseus compelled him to sink his teeth into Newt's thin neck, to press against it and suck. Whatever his intuition was, it was right; Newt unleashed a new, even more desperate set of sounds, his jaw falling open. He pushed himself closer, one arm snaking across Theseus’ back to give him leverage. 

 

“Ahh, Thee-seus, ow, ow,” he whined as a shiver ran through him that shook them both. Theseus moaned against his neck, deep and guttural, but not even this outbreak was enough to help with the boiling pressure for  _ something _ that he was feeling in his core. He licked the reddened patch of skin, enjoying the pained whimpers escaping Newt as he teased the forming bruise. His confusion was delicious, and Theseus wanted to hear more.

Newt had talked less and less to him over the past years. He hardly ever heard his voice anymore, and his younger brother avoided longer conversations with him more often than not, preferring to spend time with the one human friend he had, or, of course, his useless pets. But like this, blush so crimson it nearly drowned out the freckles on his nose, arms around him like he was a precious thing to hold on to, all of his attention rested on him, and nobody else. 

It should always be like this.

Newt had tilted his head to the side, eyes finally completely closed, while Theseus kissed from his ear down his jaw, to his neck, marking every inch as his own. It was a beautiful sight, and he was the first one to see it, ever. He probably also was the first one to hear these noises Newt was making, quiet but unashamed. He reached the collar of Newt's yellow sweater. It was in the way, it was hiding some of the mesmerizing freckles and the blush on his neck and shoulder. He pulled it away with greedy hands, let them travel across collarbone and shoulder blades. Intrigued to feel more skin, his left hand sneaked under the shirt beneath the sweater, feeling heat radiate from Newt's stomach. He placed his hand on it, firmly, and noted the hitch in his breathing contract the muscles in his abdomen. All his. His hands kept wandering, until he stroked across Newt's chest, brushing a nipple, and Newt nearly shrieked in surprise, flinching, his whole body jerking.

The sudden movement brought them closer together, and Theseus couldn't stifle a surprised moan. His crotch brushed against Newt's lower body. His attention had been so drawn in by what he was doing with his hands and mouth that he hadn't really paid any mind to the steadily rising heat in his lower abdomen, but now that that had changed, it was all he could think about. It felt almost bittersweet, the pressure and tingling down there. He dares to spare a glance- there was a bulge in his dress pants. Of course there was, he shouldn't be surprised, he's had hard-ons before. He's had a few hard-ons thinking of Newt before.

 

He'd imagined him in his nightshirt, and nothing else, hanging to the middle of his thigh, standing in the door of his room back at home, one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He used to wake him sometimes, when they were younger and Newt had had a nightmare and wanted comfort and distraction. The image of Newt like that had lead him to the most confused jerking off so far, only made worse by the memory of Newt crying. He had come all over his stomach, and in that moment the he had thought of licking the tears from his face. 

There were no tears on his face now. He wouldn't mind them, but he also didn't want to cause them. That was not important right now, though; the way his pulse was setting his dick on fire however definitely was. He did the only thing he could think of - he reached down, grabbed Newt by the hips, and pulled him closer to him. The second time their groins touched felt better than the first, hot and sweet and nearly unbearable. Newt gasped and wiggled in his hold, taking away Theseus’ need to decide whether he should follow his instinct and push against him more. The friction of the movement was nothing else but delicious, explosive and calm at once. 

“Ah, what- …,” Newt whimpered when Theseus began rolling his hips against him, grinding down. Newt's stutters faded into breathy, high pitched noises as he arched his back, curving into the movement. His hands shot to Theseus’ shoulders and dug into his sweater, even scratching the skin beneath, judging from the sudden burn. 

“Oh goodness,” Theseus moaned, feeling something feral taking over then, as he rutted against the warm body and buried his face in Newt's neck, inhaling deeply, every ragged breath Newt was taking shaking him to the core. The texture of his pants against his dick teased and pressed, and through the fabric he was certain he felt Newt's erection as well, frantically meeting every one of his movements. 

His mind was blanking out. All that mattered were the sensation in his body and the wonderful, endless sounds his sweet little brother was making for him, only for him. He wanted to be even closer, even if it was physically impossible. If he could, he would hold his ribcage open and pull Newt inside, bury him right in his heart, never let him leave again. 

“Theseus, I, ah, please…,” he barely managed to gasp out between each press against his groin, face completely crimson and by now shining with a thin layer of sweat. 

Theseus had to groan before he could answer. This was all he ever wanted and more. 

“What is it, baby?” he asked, surprised by his choice of words. It felt right to call him by a small word.

“I don't know what I'm feeling, but please, kiss me again,” Newt practically, no, literally begged, light eyes hazy but directly aimed at him. There was something in them now Theseus had not seen before yet, a primal sort of hunger mixed with despair. He had no choice but to grant Newt's wish, smothering him with his mouth. Again he bit at his lower lip, the cry emerging from Newt making his hips stutter and his heart skip a beat. Newt kissed back with frantic urgency, but it was clear that he could barely hold his concentration up enough to focus on what his tongue was doing. 

 

“Theseus,” he whined into the kiss, “I-, I think it's too much. Something is, ah-” 

Theseus grabbed his hair, probably rather roughly, he couldn't care less, and pressed him firmer into the kiss to shut his babbling. He could tell Newt was close by the way the careful roll of his hips had become irregular, stuttering, and by the force with which his scrawny legs had wrapped around Theseus’ body, muscles twitching helplessly. Theseus decided to be merciful, reaching his other hand down to the damp mess that was their groins by now, and rubbed the heel of his palm against Newt's cock through the trousers.

Newt’s body froze, back arched, as an enormous shudder went through him and he  _ screamed _ into Theseus’ mouth, who was greedily swallowing every sound. He stroked upwards, guiding Newt through his orgasm, at last breaking the kiss to pull Newt's head back. His face, just like this, should be painted. The eyes were scrunched close, eyebrows drawn together in a hopeless attempt to express the sensation shooting through his body. Tears were brimming at the edge of his eyes, but yet unspilled, and his unruly curls were stuck to his forehead. Theseus used the grip in his hair to overstretch his neck, marveling at the tendons and muscles in Newt's throat, the promise of a defined Adam's apple in the future. 

Newt was gulping in breath after desperate breath, chest heaving quickly and heavily. Theseus stroked his dick one last time through the fabric, trying his hardest to save the desperate mewl Newt made at that in his brain forever, and then he let go and wiped his hand on Newt's cloak. There wasn't much on it, most of the mess was under their clothing, but he felt the urge anyway. 

His own underwear must have been half-drenched in precome at this point. He's never been this aroused in his life, and he finally allowed himself to reach for his own dick as well. While he worked open his fly, fingers searching for his own heated flesh hungrily, Newt collapsed onto the table, slowly but definitely. He went down on his elbows, then flat on his back, and stared up at the high classroom ceiling. He was still letting out shuddering breaths. 

 

In the dim light, he looked like he was glowing all over, and maybe, maybe he was. Theseus wished for more hands, so he could touch him everywhere at once. He wished for more heads, so he could kiss and lick at every spot of his skin.

He freed his member from his underwear and moaned loudly at the slide of his palm across it, movement made easy by the slick of sweat and precome. The only thing that would feel better enclosing it than his own hand would be Newt. Whatever Newt could offer, he would take it.

Theseus pushed Newt a bit further across the desk, dragging his trousers down further in the process. They could be gone entirely, he finds, and starts taking off Newt's shoes. It's worth it, even though he has to stop touching himself, because after the shoes he removed his trousers as well. Newt didn't help, really, didn't do anything against it either, just kept breathing. Maybe the spell was wearing off. That meant he had to hurry, so he decided he would take his time to marvel at the stretch of Newt's thighs later, and resisted the urge to run over the freckled skin at the junction of hip and leg. 

“Talk to me, Newt,” he urged, a slight of worry creeping under his skin now, seeing how he didn't react at all, not even when Theseus climbed over him on the table. “I want to know how you feel. How do you feel?”

“I feel alright, Theseus,” he answers obediently, but it sounds breathless and tinny. The hunger in his eyes is gone. “Warm. And tired. Can I sleep?”

Maybe it's the afterglow of his orgasm. He most likely never had one induced by someone else before.

“Not yet, sweetheart, but soon.” Theseus brushed some hair from his forehead and smiled down at him, kissing the edge of his crooked, lightly open mouth. He let his tongue dance over his lips, felt the edge of his teeth, but didn't dive in fully. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Newt smiled and closed his eyes, sighing. Theseus kept careful watch of his face, thinking of where he had put his wand in case he had to renew the spell, as he tenderly pushed Newt's legs apart by the knees, exposing him. That earned him a questioning sound and a twitch. It was not much of a sight, nothing Theseus hadn't seen before, but nevertheless he was sure he'd never forget it, the way come was painted across Newt's skin, standing out against the slowly subsiding flush.

Theseus was painfully, achingly hard by now, and he climbed over Newt, propping one of his knees on the table and placing Newt's legs around him. The other looked at him with raised eyebrows, questioning what exactly it was he was doing.

He didn't know. But he would find out.

Slowly, carefully, Theseus lowered his hips, bracing himself for the sensations he expected before making skin contact. The direct touch made him gasp, and he immediately started rutting down, helpless and needy now. It felt wonderful, and he murmured Newt's name again and again, chasing the overwhelming feeling in his abdomen. 

He didn't see Newt's face scrunch up at first, and only really looked at him when he felt sweaty hands push against his clothed chest repeatedly. 

“It's too much, Theseus, it doesn't feel good anymore,” Newt was uttering, words interjected by whimpers, and he was trying to squirm away from his brother now. Was that it, was the spell gone?

Theseus halted and leaned down to swallow Newt's noises with a kiss. Newt stopped pushing against him as he stopped rubbing their groins together.

“Don't be unfair now,” he whispered between ragged breaths, “you got to finish, don't you agree I should be allowed as well? Or are you being selfish?”

Newt shook his head hesitantly, eyes distant. 

“I love you, do you know that? I would do anything for you.”

“I know.” The trust and conviction in Newt’s words made Theseus’ heart swell.

“Then I think you should do the same for me.” His voice was a soft whisper, aiming to soothe, and he pressed a last kiss to Newt's cheek, ruffled his hair quickly, Newt leaning into the touch. He took it as an agreement.

He wasn't thinking about how any form of agreement given under this spell was meaningless.

  
What he was thinking about was what he would be doing now. This, whatever it was, felt incredible, but he wanted more  _ tightness _ , wanted to immerse himself fully in his brother's body. His hand wandered back down Newt's stomach, eliciting a unhappy mewl and a wriggle from him as he rubs against his now flaccid cock for a second, to trace the soft skin just below his balls that lead to his hole. Theseus had heard about what some older boys do with it. Initially, the mere idea of putting _ anything _ up there sounded nothing but disgusting, but now, right in this moment, the thought of it alone nearly made him spill. Newt would be welcoming, warm, legs wrapped around him and eager to meet his thrusts. And so he tried, carefully, to slip a finger inside. It didn't work out well. Newt yelped, and kicked in irritation once the finger breached the tight ring of muscle, and honestly, Theseus couldn't imagine that anything else would fit in there like this. Maybe with more time, and more wetness it could work, but not like this.

 

“Ah, what are you doing?” Newt asked, a hint of something negative in his voice, something that might be fear, or doubt, when Theseus wiggled his finger a bit for curiosity’s sake.

“I'm just trying something out, love, don't worry.” He watched Newt's expression shift with uncertainty, but decided to leave it be and retreated. Newt exhaled loudly.

He considered asking him instead to put his mouth around his dick. He had seen that before in desolate hallways, someone on their knees, face buried in another person's open pants, moving, panting. He studied Newt's face, how out of it he seemed. It would look marvelous, and he would be able to sink his hands into his fluffy hair and pull however he liked, assume total control of his actions. But then he probably wouldn't hear him whimper his name anymore, and was that worth it? 

Maybe not. Maybe next time.

He would make do.

When Newt shifted beneath him, probably in discomfort considering the goosebumps that were rippling across his skin now, the air in the room likely feeling chilly against his exposed, sweat covered skin that was beginning to cool off post-orgasm, Theseus had another idea. Newt’s legs rubbed against each other, lean but still rather soft despite the muscles prominent above his knees, muscles needed for running and climbing and general creature-related shenanigans. With little to no effort, he rolled his little brother over to lie on his stomach. He squeaked quietly in response, and turned his face so that his cheek was resting against the wooden desk. He even closed his eyes. Theseus couldn’t resist the impulse to press yet another kiss against the side of his mouth, ghosting his lips along his cheek, and nibbling at his earlobe. Newt moaned, but the exhaustion was evident in his voice.

Theseus scooted back a bit, sat up to sit on his heels, and softly caressed the back of Newt’s thighs, pinching lightly here and there, drinking in the confused and drowsy sounds that got him. Indeed, Newt’s legs were wonderful, and the place where they met with the soft globes of his ass was intricate to say the least. He rubbed and massaged the muscles there, pulling the cheeks apart curiously. A thumping behind him indicated that Newt was raising and dropping his legs in an attempt to somehow channel the sensations he was experiencing. He was still wriggling and squirming, but not with much fervour. 

With some jostling, Theseus managed to get Newt’s hips up and his knees under him, even if he had to keep his hands on the small hips firmly. He pressed close to his backside, rubbing his achingly,  _ painfully  _ hard cock against Newt’s ass, and had to bite his lip to keep from screaming his pleasure out loud. His dick found the cleft between the cheeks after one or two ruts against flesh, and the pressure from both sides seemed to swallow him whole. He felt saliva drip from the corner of his mouth down his jaw. Maybe, maybe he was going crazy.

Newt had settled his head to rest on his forearms, braced on the desk. The arch of his spine, half-slumped and seemingly devoid of all energy, looked like it was made just for him. Every ripple of muscle under ever-freckled skin, every rib showing through, belonged to him and no one else.

“Are you still with me?” He breathed out, and feared it was hardly loud enough for Newt to hear. It was, however, and Newt moved his head in what could have been a nod.

“Press your legs together for me, that’s all I want you to do.” He held his movements then, only circling his thumb across Newt’s backside, and waited for him to comply. It took a bit of huffing and little sounds, cries even, but Newt managed. He drew his legs closer together, pushing out his butt more towards his brother in the process. Newt’s own dick was hanging limply between his legs, but once they were closed Theseus couldn’t see it any longer, and quite honestly didn’t care much either.

“Beautiful,” he groaned, and dug a hand between Newt’s thighs. It was warm there, where the skin was touching, and he spat on his other hand and pumped his dick two, three times. Once he deemed it wet enough to be comfortable, he guided it between Newt’s thighs. Newt whined from overstimulation, and squeezed his legs together. 

Something finally broke apart in Theseus’ mind. His fingers implemented themselves in Newt’s hips, fingernails nearly breaking skin, and he rolled his hips into Newt as hard and fast as he could. The hot skin surrounding him didn’t compare to any feeling he had ever felt, the slide and press against his cock absolutely divine as the sound of his body smacking against Newt’s rose and filled the room. 

He would have been swearing and cursing and praising Newt if his brain had functioned anymore at all, telling him how wonderful he felt and how well he did, keeping his ass up high and his thighs flush together for him like the good, bright, smart little brother that he was. Instead, all that fell from Theseus’ mouth were moans and groans and aspirated imitations of words like “mine,” and “Newt,” and “yes”.

It wouldn’t take him long to come, but it felt like it couldn’t happen faster. Every push against Newt was pleasure and the sweetest imaginable torture, filled and fueled by the urge to be even closer to his brother, to take him over completely. Newt had fallen nearly silent, upper body jerking with every thrust between his legs, skin rubbing raw against the rough surface. The sway of his hair was hypnothic, a light red to go along with the flush still coloring his shoulders. 

Finally, finally, Theseus felt the coil in his abdomen tighten one last, pulsing time, and releasing. His whole body seized up, curling and stretching out at once, as his ears rang and energy seemed to sizzle through every vein in him, a fire shooting through muscles and skin and bones and thoughts. Everything was hot, loud and quiet at once, and everything was Newt. 

He only realized how loud he was moaning, or perhaps even screaming, when the sound stopped and silence fell. He knelt there, behind Newt, who was completely frozen in front of him, and gasped for air to fill his lungs. He slowly uncurled his fingers from Newt’s hips, barely registering the bloody moon shapes he left on the skin there, and brushed sweat off his forehead.

Theseus settled back on his heels, and then, after breathing and breathing, unfolded his legs from under him, swinging them over the side of the table. Newt had carefully lowered his body back down, now trembling in an entirely different way than before, faster, in apparently faster successions of little seizures. He must have been freezing.

He should always look like this, Theseus mused. Completely spent, shivering and disheveled by him, and  _ belonging  _ to him.

He stretched himself out, registering how shaky his own legs were, but he managed to stand without grasping for the edge of the desk again. He was warm and felt like he was made of cotton, floating on a cloud of satisfaction. He dressed himself properly again, buttoning up his trousers, brushing a few wrinkles out of them, and found himself presentable.

“You should get up, love,” he whispered to Newt, as he stood next to the desk, and raised a hand to stroke through his completely disordered hair. Newt didn’t react, face hidden in his arms, the only indicator showing he wasn’t asleep yet the irregular in- and expansion of his torso with every breath he took.

“I mean it, Newt. You’ll catch a cold like this, and that would be a hazard now, wouldn’t it?”

When Newt still didn’t react, Theseus threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled his head to the side, softly, carefully, to make sure he was still with him.

He was met by wide, terrified eyes, overspilling with tears and bright with terror.

“Newt?” Theseus crouched down a bit, to be on eye-level with his beloved little brother, who had averted his gaze immediately and instead squeezed his eyes tightly shut, causing more tears to drip down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Newt gave a flinch as a sob wracked through him.

“W-what’s wrong?” He rasped. “Really?”

It was all there, in the emotion filling his voice, in his no-longer glassy eyes. Theseus had messed up.

“The spell wore off.” Theseus hadn’t noticed when, exactly, but considering Newt’s reaction it must have been before he had finished. Even if not, the situation was pretty obvious. He had messed up so bad. Before Newt could do anything, even before he could start crying harder, Theseus reached for his wand and pointed it at his brother again, whispering _Obliviate_ for the first time in his life.

 


End file.
